Hospital Beds
by mrs.milfoy
Summary: We do it to ourselves, and that's what really hurts. Triggers for addiction.
1. Receding

Receding

One hand steadied the wobbly witch against the vanity's edge. The other hand shook slightly as it hovered over the collection of vials, tubes and bottles. Fingers fluttered over corks before finally selecting a blue-green orb. Practiced, efficient, the thumb flipped cork free. Fluid flowed into a delicate glass snifter. It was white - thick and luminous. Threads of plant fiber fluttered in the viscous liquid.

Her other hand plunged into the pocket of her silken dressing gown to retrieve a smaller vial, this one black with insidious promise. As steely as possible, she uncorked and dropped a tiny drop - a tiny drop - into the opaque potion.

Eyes wide with concentration, she lifted the shot to the moonlight flooding her dressing room. _Perfect. _

It looked like its name: spider in the web. The black dollop of belladonna dropped tracers into the wormwood dilute. (A touch to the tongue was enough during the day, but for sleep, more was required.) It was beautiful, dangerous and alluring.

Narcissa watched the spider grow, web glowing. There was a moment before she drank - before she dosed - that was...essential. A moment of anticipation filled with promise. The only absolute left in the world.

She shivered. Chill permeated her thin, inadequate attire. But soon enough, even the cold could not affect her.

Teased to nearly whimpering, she tossed the shot back. There was no taste to speak of, or if there was, the witch no longer knew it. In seconds, the blissful numbness spread. She was...receding.

Sky blue silk slipped off a shadowed, prominent shoulder. Hair both black and white - days dirty - sluiced inklike down her back as her head tilted back, back. Her neck deformed. Mouth slack.

She didn't feel the floor.

* * *

Draco glanced up from his book. He recognized every bump his mother created. Could find her based on sound alone. It was convenient of late. Sighing, he set aside his reading and went to investigate. _Dressing room. Near the vanity. Off of the carpet. She'll have more bruises._

She was a broken angel, dressing gown spread like wings. How boney her legs were, folded like origami. He knelt and pulled fabric over an almost bared breast. His nose wrinkled. She'd not bathed lately. Smelled of anise. Her clammy sweat was sickly sweet.

But she was featherlight when he lifted her. Her spine threatened to puncture the skin of his arm. He deposited her on her bed in the next room, drew the burgundy duvet over her lax form. She'd not stirred.

He collected her wand from the floor, placed it on her bedside table and regarded her face. Rarely did he look at her. The failure felt too fresh. He'd not realized soon enough how quickly, how steeply she was slipping. He stroked a hollowed cheek; the skin was dry and sponge-like.

He pressed his fingers into her neck, tested her pulse. It was steady, but damned slow. His forehead creased. "Fucking hell, mum." He sat on the edge of her bed. Unchecked, her body rolled toward him. "You're going to kill yourself."

It simply wouldn't do.

* * *

Wakefulness brought with it a myriad of unpleasant awarenesses. Her belly ached. Her scalp itched. Those bloody birds were too loud. The sun was too bright. Her head throbbed.

Sheets were tangled around her legs. She kicked free and pulled herself to the nightstand. Her fingers again performed their quivering mid-air ballet over...things. Wand. Not necessary. Glass of water. _Where did that come from? _Hair fastener. An earring. _Where the devil is the other one? _The earring clattered to the floor and finally -

An orb of smooth glass. It had rolled during the night. She struggled to sit up, popping another cork with her usual precision.

This potion was red with an oily hue. She swirled it in the sun's light, smiling. _Nothing bad can come from the poppy. _The days of measuring dosage using the various spoons had long passed. Now, she simply swigged directly from the bottle. And rarely was one swig enough.

This potion was for pain; pain in her belly, her head, her heart. The pains of memory, repetition and boredom. The pain of having _lived_. It was a magical eraser of sorts, simply wiping all of that...away. It made the days bearable.

The witch hadn't felt anything in months.

She swung her legs over the edge of her bed. There were some bruises on the side of her left knee. She rubbed at them. It didn't hurt. _Must have... Hmm... What to do today?_

Motivation came in spurts, primarily potion-driven. She had to pee, so she floated to the lavatory. On the toilet, she glanced around. The room was crisp and glistening somehow, the tiles shining. It was pleasing. Pretty.

Her face itched, so she leaned over the sink. Splashed some water. She didn't look in the mirror. But when she scratched her head, some hair wafted into the sink, curled there like shriveled snakes. _Huh._

Something smelled funny. She sniffed. _Oh hell! That's me! _A burp of laughter escaped. Perhaps a bath today. She could have the elf draw one. Meanwhile…

She wandered the halls of her home like a wraith. Sometimes leaning against a heavily embossed wall for support. Ages old paintings stared down at her, disapproving as she passed beneath them.

But sometimes the disapproving glance was a newer one. A scowling, darkening glare from shocking blue eyes. Her son.

Today, when she shuffled past the opened door of her dead husband's study, their son emerged after her. "Finally awake?"

She stopped. Swayed on her feet as she turned to him. "Is it terribly late?"

"It's nearly two o'clock, mother."

"Oh." If her eyes had been capable of surprise, they would have shown it. As it stood, a glassy stare was all she could muster. "Lunch then?"

"I've already eaten." His forehead creased. "Are you hungry?" He would _love _to see her eat.

"I could tolerate some fruit. Perhaps a scone." Her shoulder hit the wall and she leaned properly.

His lips tightened. "Come in here and sit. Tatty!" He summoned the elf briskly. It popped up bowing, wringing its tea towel tunic. "A fruit tray. In here. With tea."

"Yes, master." Tatty touched a knobby finger to his one gnarled ear and popped away.

Draco took hold of Narcissa's arm - as much to steady her as to welcome her. Lead her to the chaise before the wide opened windows. She squinted against the sun. Noted the parchments spread across Lucius' great cherry desk. "What are you working on?"

"Father's estate." He propped against the desk, watching her. Her leg shook when she sat straight. "And a few other...arrangements."

"Arrangements?" Tatty appeared with the tea. He touched his ear and a little table whisked before the witch. He dropped the tray there and disappeared again. Narcissa began distractedly fussing the creamer and sugar bowls, arranging fruit hither and thither, opening a scone.

All for show really, Draco knew. She barely ate. "You're a disgraceful mess," he said quietly. She froze, fingering the spreading knife. "I won't insult your intelligence, compromised as it is. I believe you know what I speak of."

"I've been under a great deal of stress."

"_I _ am the one under stress, mother. You've not lifted a finger unless it was to unplug a potion bottle." Impatient, he buttered her scone and thrust it at her. "D'you know what day it is?"

"Does it matter?"

"It does today, yes."

"Why?" She bit the scone. Chewed it thickly.

"You're going away for a while, mum."

"What?"

"You need help and -"

"I have you!"

"I'm tired of picking up your boney arse wherever it falls, witch!" He checked his temper, rubbed his eyes tiredly. He knew how weak she was - how damned sensitive the potions made her. "You need healers, mum. This has gotten...bad."

"So you suddenly care?"

"Don't you _dare_," he growled. "Don't you dare say that. I've had to watch your self destruction long enough. Wasn't it enough I had a funeral to plan? An estate to settle? A trial and the damn Daily Prophet at our heels? Forgive me for being a little slow on the uptake of realizing my mother had become a potion-addled emotional derelict."

She flinched and he backed away. Sighed as he rolled up a parchment. He wouldn't let her manipulate him - change his mind. The healer had already discussed this with him. Instead, he maintained his false calm, and outlined the plan matter of factly. "You'll go to St. Mungo's tomorrow morning. There's a very nice private wing. You'll have your own room and your own staff. I assure you I've spared no expense. Your healer is -"

"You're locking me away."

"I'm trying to save your life, mother."

"I can do better, Draco!"

"Not here." His throat burned. "Please, mum…" He wiped his nose. "This isn't up for debate. It's done."

"But…" She spread her hands helplessly, stared at her meaningless lunch. "What will I do? When will I see you?"

He wondered if she felt the tears on her face. "I'm assured I can visit as often as I like."

"Will they be kind to me?"

His heart twisted. She was so fucking fragile. "They'd better." He coughed a laugh. "As much as I'm paying them they should install a bloody throne for you."

His attempt at humor was acknowledged by a sniffling smile. Her nose ran unchecked and he knelt with handkerchief. "I love you so damn much, mum." He wiped at her face, ignoring the extra grime that wiped away. "I want you better. I want you back." Fighting was impossible. He let his own emotions escape and pulled her to him. She felt like a sack of brittle sticks sagging against him. "Please just try. For me."

"For you." She clutched him desperately. "But I'm so very afraid, Draco."

"Me too, mum." He kissed her greasy head. "Me too."


	2. Just a Drop

Just a Drop

Dr. Mirren was not a woman to be trifled with. Even her smile bespoke no nonsense, and Draco returned it in kind when they stepped from the floo into the quiet, spacious marble lobby of St. Mungo's Magical Addiction Recovery Centre. He steadied his mother who had spent the last nineteen hours in an absolute impenetrable haze of potion highs and lows. She'd had to dose herself heavily just to leave her bed that morning, and left Draco with the task of packing her belongings.

Mirren no doubt knew immediately, and said as much when she made Narcissa's official acquaintance. "Ms. Malfoy." The healer's hand was warm and dry and sure - a complete contrast to her patient's cold, clammy uncertainty. "I see you're quite intoxicated. Do enjoy these last fleeting moments of your self-induced wretched abyss. Because the next seventy-two hours will be absolute hell for you, and I'm afraid the days to come will be no better."

Cissa's wide eyes flew to Draco. She gripped his arm desperately. "Darling, please -"

"Best if you leave now, Mr. Malfoy." Dr. Mirren was already bodily separating Narcissa from her son, handing off her shrunken belongings to two nearby assistants. "We'll take her from here."

"Draco! Please!" She begged again, ready to fall to her knees were she not being held firm by Healer Mirren. The witch-doctor was tougher than she looked, steel encased in a deceitfully fey form.

Draco stood vacillating, an arm stretched helplessly - still feeling his mother's terrified grip there. "Mother," he whispered. "I'm sorry…" His voice simply wouldn't come, and he doubted she could have heard him over her sobs which were now quite pitiful.

The assistants took her, speaking gently as they led her through a pair of charmed doors with brisk wand swishes. Mirren paused briefly, looked back at him and extended a hand. "Her wand?"

Draco handed over the willow tool with shaking fingers. "Please," he said. "Be…kind to her. She's so afraid."

"I assure you any harm to your mother has already come from herself, Draco." Mirren pocketed Narcissa's wand. Pushed white-blonde bangs from her smooth forehead. "And that's what really hurts."

"When can I see her?" He asked.

"Come in a week." Mirren said. "No sooner. Good day, Mr. Malfoy." Her blue robes swished as she stepped confidently after her aides.

Draco stood in the lobby for a long moment after they had gone. A few healers passed him with smiles, and some rather bureaucratic looking types as well. He wondered if he'd done the right thing, and felt a stone settle in his belly.

* * *

"There now." The girl spoke sweetly as she deposited Narcissa on a neatly comported bed. "This is your room, ma'am. No one will bother you here." She rubbed the witch's back ineffectually, couldn't stop her weeping. "It will be alright, love. You've the best healer there is."

"Where shall I put these?" The wizard asked.

"Set them on the dresser, Emil." The young witch instructed. "Thank you." Emil departed, bobbing his dark head in good-bye. "I'm Jane," she told Narcissa. "I'll be checking on you most of the time. Not too many of us here. That was Emil. He'll be about, too." She tugged at Cissa's hands, pulled them from her face. "There, there now. Calm yourself." Sweetly, she dabbed at tears and snot. "It's always a bit rough at first, but I assure you you'll come to like it here."

"Thank you, Miss Castor." Mirren's firm voice came from the doorway. "If I may have a moment with the patient?"

"Of course, Healer." One final pat on Narcissa's shoulder. "I'll be back to help you settle in, love."

The doors made soothing, whishing sounds when they opened and closed. Heavy oak. The floors were polished stone. Narcissa felt the chill permeating already. Her healer's attitude didn't help.

"You will think of me as your enemy, I'm afraid." Mirren produced Narcissa's wand. Set it on the table by her bed. "It will be some time before you realize I'm quite the opposite."

"What will happen to me now?"

"For the next three days you will detox. It will be both physically and mentally demanding. Exhausting and sometimes painful. I won't lie to you."

Narcissa nodded dumbly. "I see. And after that?"

"Then your therapy starts. We will dig to the root of the problem. Find the thing that drove you to potions and work to eliminate it."

"But I don't want that!"

"No, of course you don't. That's why you're here before me now. This way. Soggy with Merlin knows what and completely malnourished."

"When can I go home?"

"When you're better."

Feeling defeated, abandoned and hopeless, Narcissa curled onto the bed. She said nothing else, so Mirren continued briskly. "I'll tell you a little about me and about what's going to happen here. I am Healer Anne Mirren. I'm both a doctor trained in the muggle world and a healer trained in the magical one, so often my methods seem strange but I have proven my effectiveness 100 percent. Now, Jane will be back to run some simple painless diagnostics. I need to know what's coursing through your veins and ensure I'm prepared for it. I imagine we'll be combating some very unappealing withdrawal symptoms. Your first days here will be spent in isolation for your own health, but after detox you'll be free to roam. You will also be free to cast your own wards. Patients' rooms are their homes, and we allow them to be as welcoming or unwelcoming as they see fit. But be prepared: for now, your wand will not work. You could pose a danger to yourself or staff. As soon as we judge you able, the cancellation charm will be lifted. Understood?"

It was too much. She nodded, but retained little. Already her head was hurting and her mouth watered for just a drop... And her stomach. "My stomach hurts."

"I imagine it's empty. And you're nervous. But I will have Jane check for gastric anomalies just the same. You may have developed an ulcer." She blinked at Narcissa for a moment. "Do you suppose you could eat?"

Narcissa shook her head. She could barely process at the moment, much less generate appetite.

"Then I'll leave you for the moment. Jane will be in shortly." The healer paused at the door. "If you need help, Narcissa, summon using the bell by your bed. It's charmed. Someone will come. Always."

Her room was dreadfully quiet. At the manor there had always been the birds at least. Here, there was nothing but the oppressive calm of spell-induced silence. And the chill seemed to be spreading. _Why do they keep it so damned cold?_

She didn't move. Her thoughts moved rapidly, driven by fear of the impending emptiness. The coming lack of numbing. _Just a drop… _But the only drops she felt were tears. She was ashamed. Needy. Afraid. Aching. _And this place. My own son - disgusted. _

There was a rattling sound. Blearily, she looked up, followed the racket. It was her bed - shaking with her body. She quaked uncontrollably. _Freezing. _And more. _Something is terribly wrong!_

A knock. "I'm back, Mrs. Malfoy!" Jane entered with a gentle smile. "I've a few tests to -"

"Something is wrong."

The nurse healer blinked. "Wrong, ma'am?"

"I think I'm freezing. I can't stop shaking."

"Hm." Jane drew her wand, began murmuring complicated incantations. "Lay back, please Mrs. Malfoy."

She did as she was asked. Had to control a strange urge to wrap arms round herself. Had to control the urge to cry uncontrollably. Her jaw seemed to hammer a jarring rhythm. But the surge of magic over her was comforting if brief.

"I'm afraid you're already beginning to suffer some withdrawal symptoms." Jane explained, reading the runes and symbols hovering over Narcissa's form. "Mostly nerve-induced. Although you do have a rather high fever. I'll bring you something for it. Tummy aching?"

"Yes!" The girl offered solace, and Cissa clambered for it. "And my head. Everything, I think." The heat in her sinus was welcome and almost soothing. The tears spilled over with the truth, the desperation. "Please. I can't do this. Please. Just a drop?"

Jane placed a hand on Narcissa's shoulder. "I'll talk to Healer Mirren about a headache potion, but I make no promises. Narcissa?"

How was that hand not freezing? "Yes?"

"This is going to be very hard. But I want you to know I'm here for you. I've seen many people endure this suffering, and you're the strongest I've met yet. You _can_ do this."

"I bet you say that to all the girls," Cissa chattered.

Jane smiled. "I've brought you a lovely gown to wear for your first days. Don't worry - no one will see you." She gestured. "If you like, you can freshen up and change. You've a private lav. Lucky thing!"

"I can't." She positively couldn't. Couldn't move. Couldn't even imagine it.

But Jane held out a hand. "Trust me, Narcissa. You should see to ablutions now. Later… Well, later you probably shan't feel up to it."

And that sounded dreadfully foreboding. So Narcissa took the offered hand. Let the girl pull her to her feet and accepted a freshly enlarged parcel from her. "Thank you," she whispered.

Jane nodded. "I'm going to settle your things while you wash, alright?"

The lavatory was...cozy. The bathtub was only a few feet from the toilet, and the toilet was nearly pressed against the sink. A few towels lay in waiting on a metal rack, and hooks protruded from the back of the door. Everything was a blinding, dizzying white.

Cissa had to squint against the brightness.

In the parcel was a shapeless cotton gown, also white. A flannel dressing gown in dove grey. Soap. A toothbrush (as if she hadn't brought her own) and paste. Shampoo that smelled of mint and sweet almond. On auto-pilot, she arranged these things in their proper places.

The tub was deep. It took a moment to decipher the taps, but she did. And when the water was scalding hot (though still not), she submerged herself entirely. For one low, awful moment, she thought to drown. Imagined there was some ward or another in place that would disallow such a thing. _Permanent numbness. What a bliss._

But Jane was just outside the door. And pragmatist she was, Narcissa couldn't bear the thought of being pulled naked and potion-addled from a St. Mungo's bathtub. _What would the Daily Prophet say?_

So she washed. It was what was expected. The soap smelled of chamomile and lavender, no doubt meant to calm. _What a farce. _She itched so badly, the Malfoy witch wanted to claw her own skin off. _No soap can help. Nothing can help._

Time lost meaning. She stepped from the water when it had lost what little heat it once held. Immediately, she broke into a debilitating shiver. Would speak to Jane about the temperature charms.

The gown fit her like a thick sheet. Too thin. She crossed her arms over obvious signs of her chill and turned just in time to see coils of her hair swirling down the drain with her filthy water. She gasped at the sight, reeled backward until she pressed to the door. Her feet slapped on the slippery floor and she just managed to grab her robe before stumbling into her room.

Jane glanced up from the little bedside table. "Nar - Oh! Look how pink you are! Are you burned?"

"No…" Cissa fingered her wet, tangled hair. "My - my hair…"

Jane fussed her to her bed. "Sit, sit. Gods above I'm amazed you're not blistering!" More wand waving and suddenly a freeze.

Narcissa flinched. Shoved the girl's hand away as if she could physically shield a cooling charm. "Stop it! I'm freezing! My hair -"

"Shhhh!" Jane took hold of her flailing arms. "What's wrong with your hair?"

"It's coming out."

Jane frowned. "Sometimes that happens. I'll get you a conditioning salve for it. It will help." She rubbed the witch's tangled head. "Now. Are you still cold?"

Cissa pressed into the touch. Jane's hand was warm. "Yes. Inside out. Awfully…"

"I'll speak to Healer Mirren about that too."

"Please. Will you cast a warming charm?"

The girl hesitated. "I don't want you to overheat."

"_Please_!" Was that her? Begging? Pitiful? She vaguely fleetingly remembered a time she'd dueled her deranged sister and won - _won! _- before she collapsed against the young healer and wept, beneath even shame.

Jane rubbed ineffectually Narcissa's back and shoulders, arms embracing loosely. She was still talking. Still murmuring kind things. Still shushing and soothing. But Narcissa was crumbling. Clutching. Shaking. Freezing. _Dying! _

And thinking. Somehow - despite all - the witch was thinking:

_Such a simple thing such a simple solution just a dilution just a dilute just a drop to make it all go away to make it evaporate just a drop just a drop just a drop..._


	3. Visiting Hours

Visiting Hours

They'd given her extra blankets. She huddled underneath them as if she could hide from the pain of need. Jane's warming charm had long since faded, but Narcissa was too afraid to move to call for the nurse. She peaked from within her blanket cave. Watched shadows churn on the opposite wall. When they became demons, she clenched her eyes tight closed.

Her head still throbbed. Dr. Mirren - the sadist - had refused to allow even a headache potion. So now, between her stomach and her brain, a war waged. Not to mention she could no longer feel her toes, and her fingers tingled from the cold.

_It must be evening. Surely some time has passed. I have been here forever…_ Tears welled. She was too weak to stop them spilling. They tickled over the bridge of her nose. Rolled into her temple. The tangled hair there soaked them up like a sponge.

_How long must this last? _Her throat was parched. Eyes flicked to a tea tray on the bedside table. There was a warming charm on that, too - and a promise of relief for her thirst. But it required emerging from her cocoon, and the shadows on the wall grew more and more menacing.

One was a flower. Some wicked orchid. Its stamen undulated, grew and sharpened. It was some kind of tongue designed for stabbing. A straw through which her blood would be sucked slowly. Its petals were deceitful angel wings. If it found her, it would clutch her in root talons and fly her to doom.

She shook her head. _Isn't real._ But what was real was becoming questionable at best. "Draco…" _He would take me home immediately if he saw what they've done to me. If he saw that flower. That beast. He would take me -_

"Mum?"

Her eyes snapped open. "Draco! Are you real?" He perched on the edge of her bed. The thin mattress shifted with his weight. His smile, that beautiful familiar smile...

"Yes, mum. I'm real." His fingers - his father's fingers - slipped into the crevice of her blanket, widened the opening before her face. "Are you alright in there?"

"Take me home!" Her own fingers, frozen and shaking, fluttered for his. "Please, son!" Their hands tangled and mated. Narcissa pulled his knuckles to her chapped lips, kissed them in desperate supplication. "Please," she whimpered.

"I can't," he murmured. He kissed her head beneath blanket. "You have to stay, mother. You have to heal."

"I'll die here!" But he was already pulling his hand away, already leaving. "No! No!" She clutched harder. Heard a rip. "Draco!"

She fired from the blanket, sat straight and tugged his arm. But the rip had been his skin, and she held the evidence to her lips. His hand. But just his hand. From the stump hung the torn threads of muscle, vein and artery. It dripped and still gripped her wrist. The boy was gone.

She screamed. A true scream. Her gut hurt from the screaming and she tried to throw the hand away. It grappled with her fingers, refusing to be cast off. "Noooooo! Please! Gods!"

Her door banged loudly open. "Shut your weak mouth, for fuck's sake Cissy."

The severed hand made a sick plop when it fell to the floor. Bellatrix stepped over it gamely, her long tattered skirt delicately caressing the extremity. Its fingers flexed and Narcissa scrambled off of her bed, over the edge of it. "Bella?"

_Impossible. _But when she peered over the edge of the mattress she clutched, she saw her sister's long, black-clad back. "Bella…"

"I've come for you, Cissy." The airy voice reported. Tendrils of black smoke curled from her head, alive. "No one else will come."

"You're dead." Narcissa squeezed her eyes closed again, denied the vision.

"I've come to take you with me, Cissy." Fingers crafted from ice and hatred curled over her own. Narcissa looked at them. They were grey and desiccated. "I've come to take you…"

Her eyes traveled up. Up the flaking decrepit arm to a face barely recognisable beneath dried blisters and cracked skin. "Bella!" Narcissa's voice was a hollow rasp.

"I've come to take you back, Cissy." The wraith reached for her, its arms of death encircling the numb witch. "BACK TO HELL!"

"No!" Narcissa fought the ghost. Self preservation made her feral. She bit at death, tore at the flesh with her nails. "You're not real! NOT REAL!" But perhaps she was real - this whore of Hell come to visit - for Narcissa seemed to be losing the battle for her soul. She was pinned to the freezing floor, legs scrambling beneath Bella's heaviness. No matter how madly she slapped and slithered, she couldn't free both arms at once. "Not real," she panted. Spat. "You're dead! You're gone! Not bloody real!"

"I assure you I bloody well am real!" But it wasn't Bella's wretched voice answering, nor Bella's hand that sent Narcissa's head sideways and stilled her struggling.

"Doctor!" Another voice, caring if muted. "Was that necessary?"

"Necessary to prevent her hurting herself or either of us further, yes. Jane. The hypodermic, please?"

Dr. Mirren still sat atop her patient. Both heaving, both bleeding, the women were defeated in their own ways. Jane flicked at a needle before handing it to Mirren. "Now, now, witch." Mirren whispered. "Let's give you some peace for a time."

Narcissa, still seeing stars from the force of Anne's slap, was in no place to refuse. She felt a little sting in her upper arm, then sleep like a loitering buzzard descended…

* * *

"Good morning, ma'am." Jane deposited her breakfast tray by the bed, and proceeded to open the curtains. "Or should I say good afternoon?"

Narcissa struggled to push up on her arms. The weakness was winning. "Too fucking bright," she hissed. Her voice was stagnant, and she could taste her breath. "My head…"

Jane was whisking her wand. "Lie back." She read the glowing diagnostics as they curled in the air. "Well, the good news is you're losing the toxins at an acceptable rate. The bad news is...your body has become so accustomed to them it doesn't want to let them go." She lifted a pillow from the floor, dusted and fluffed it. "Here. Up. You need to eat something."

"Can't. Cold." Cissa curled in her blanket fortification.

Jane's lips thinned. "Mrs. Malfoy. I have to be firmer with you, I'm afraid. So." Suddenly, she was hauling Narcissa up by the arm, propping her like an awkward doll in the pillows. "You're going to sit up and eat. Oh!" She let go just as quickly. Backed away a step. "Sweet Merlin, witch." Wondering, Jane's fingers explored Cissa's arm. "By gods, you're naught but bones!"

"Thank you, Jane. That will be all for now." Dr. Mirren held the door open for her nurse to leave. With one last lingering look of sympathy, Jane departed. Mirren and Narcissa stared at each other for a time. There was no sympathy on the Healer's face. "Feeling better?"

"I feel miserable."

"Better than last night, I suspect." Narcissa's eyes narrowed at Mirren, who nodded knowingly. "Hm. Yes, I doubt you'll recall." She approached and waved her own wand over the impatient patient. "Gave us quite a fight."

"I would never!" She stared aghast at Mirren.

Smirking, Mirren turned her head to reveal a heavy blue-black bruise and a fine series of scratches to the sunlight. "Don't worry. You've a matching one. Jaw hurting?"

Dumbly, Cissa pressed fingers to the side of her face. "Oh…"

"Here." Mirren waved her wand over the bruise, whispering. The incantation soothed the pain immediately and the odd headache abated. "Better?"

"Yes." Narcissa looked into her lap. Fiddled her numb fingers. She felt wretchedly cowed. "I'm...I'm so sorry."

"It happens." Dr. Mirren summoned a visitor's chair from across the room and sat. She perched her clipboard on crossed legs. "I thought we might have a chat. Meanwhile…" A wand flick and the bedside table stretched across the bed, sliding the breakfast tray within reach. "Try to eat a bit. Or rather, drink a bit."

Narcissa reached through the shimmering warming charm for her cup of tea. Her fingers tingled within the bounds of the spell. "I'm very cold," she said.

"I've noticed." Mirren sighed relief when Narcissa sipped the tea. "I'm afraid I can't explain that other than to say it's psychosomatic."

"Psycho…" Throat wet, Cissa sounded more like herself.

"Psychosomatic," Mirren supplied. "Imagined. Not real, but quite real in its mental manifestation. You've no fever. Your body temperature is slightly elevated, but still within normal range. And the temperature in your room is…" She shook her head. "Sweltering, thanks to your insistence and Jane's dotage."

"Will I warm up, then? Psychosomatically?" She set the empty cup back on its tray. Licked her cracking lips.

Mirren chuckled. "I think you will, yes. Once we have you adequately detoxed."

"What's this?" Narcissa lifted the beaker.

"Broth."

She sipped it. "It's awful."

"I'll send your compliments to the chef." Mirren jotted a few notes. "You may experience some nausea, so we're going to keep your diet primarily fluid for a while."

"I see." Cissa set the beaker down. Looked directly ahead. Her nostrils flared.

"Are you alright?" Mirren leaned forward.

"I believe I'm experiencing some of that nausea."

"Oh, dear." Mirren was quick, firing forward to retrieve the stainless emesis basin from beneath Narcissa's bed. Unfortunately, their timing was...unfortunate.

Narcissa, panicked, leaned hastily over the edge of her bed. The stream of freshly vomited tea poured across Dr. Mirren's back, spattering her neat blonde hair. She grimaced as she rose, pressing the kidney-shaped container into Cissa's hands.

"I'm so...so sorry," Narcissa gasped between heaves. She retched pitifully, still bent. Mirren stood over her, calmly removing her no-longer-pristine white robes.

"It's alright, Mrs. Malfoy." She placed an uncertain - but kind - hand on the sick witch's tangled head. "It happens." Seeing there would be no more conversation, the doctor turned to the door, knowing her patient would prefer privacy at the moment. "I'll send Jane along with something for the nausea."

"Ugggghhh." Cissa could only groan, curling fetally over the tiny bowl. Her only saving grace was that it magically emptied when full…

* * *

The nausea had seemed interminable. Even after the injection Jane brought, it felt as if hours passed before sleep claimed her. So when Narcissa woke, It was dark. Quiet on the ward. Her stomach ached, and the usual cold penetrated her skin.

The shadows were back. Beckoning to her. _Not tonight. _

She wasn't locked in. Wasn't a prisoner here. She scrambled to gather two heavy blankets around her shoulders. Her bare feet slapped slick stone and she scurried to the door despite her sore muscles' complaints.

The hall outside was buzzing with that peculiar stillness all hospitals possess. While there were no patients or staff immediately visible, their presences were tangible - lingering in the air like ghosts. Narcissa's nose ran. She sniffled and the sound echoed.

She recognised the lobby to the left. Moonlight flooded through the double doors there. But being so close to freedom was a bitter promise of unfulfillment, so she chose to go right. At the far end of the hall, there was a hint of more moonlight, and perhaps a view of something.

Narcissa's own room was marked "PRIVATE." Beneath the word was the number "11." Now, she passed other rooms similarly marked. Some were not private, hosting two numbers. She reached "19/20." _At least 20 of us then. 20 people here. _And she knew there were more on the floor above. _I wonder how many are like me. How many are… addicts._

She grimaced at the mere thought of the term. Tugged her blankets more firmly around her shoulders. The closer she came to the picture window ahead, the colder she grew. And the window itself offered little in the way of a view. The night sky was dense with clouds, and a rather insistent shrubbery obscured anything below.

Two final rooms. On the left, LINENS. On the right...CRITICAL. She scowled at the LINENS and stepped closer to the more imposing door. "Ohhhh." She breathed. Her hand reached toward the dark wood, pressed flat to it…

The most incredible warmth emanated from within. _How perfectly wonderful. _She pressed her other hand to it as well and before she could consider the action she'd pressed herself to it, too. "Mmmmm-ah!"

She'd expected the door to be warded, so she staggered when it swung open easily. Blankets spilled from her shoulders, tangled her feet, so she barely got her bearings by grabbing hold of the metal bed frame. "Eee!" She pressed her hand over her mouth, regarding wide-eyed the patient laying still as death. Her blue eyes cut to the door that swung shut accusingly.

So still. So quiet. The witch frozen by fear and something not quite explainable. The figure on the bed prone. Her heart slammed in her chest. She was surprised the figure before her didn't bolt upright, demanding her coronary silence.

But the stillness, the quiet and the fantastic _warmth_ calmed her. She lowered her hand to her racing pulse, slowing it in time with her relaxation. And she took in the patient.

In the thick darkness, his face was invisible. Definitely a man. He was flat; quite thin, long beneath a blue sheet. His skin - the bit visible in the moon's straight shaft - was shiny with perspiration. There was glistening black ink spilled on the mattress and pillow near his head. _No. Not ink. How silly. That's his hair…_

She stepped around the bed, approached him slowly. Her hand hovered above his body and she realised the heat was emanating _from him! _She cocked her head. The hand hovered lower. How she wanted to touch that warmth - to absolutely absorb it… Finally the angle brought his face into starlight.

Her gasp was dagger-sharp. "Oh, sweet goddess!" The hand not hovering covered her mouth and tears - completely uncalled for, unexplainable - fell fat, wet and sudden down her face. "Severus?"

The hovering hand fell on the sleeping wizard's shoulder. It felt the sweat, the moist edges of bandage at his neck, firm muscle and pure _heat. _It was a siren's call to her. "Severus." _Are you real?_

He made no reply. She sat on the edge of his bed, so uncertain. His heat penetrated her thin gown, melted her icy skin. She felt his chest rising and falling. Beneath smooth lids, his eyes flickered. But nothing more. "Severus…" _So warm._

There was room. Real or not, he was warm and she was freezing, tired and terrified. She gathered a blanket from the floor, clenched her eyes closed and let her exhausted body fall alongside his. Content as a cat in the sun, she slept.


	4. Psychosomatic

"_WHAT _in the name of Merlin's soft and salty _sack _is going on here?!"

The bellow was not a pleasant alarm, and after the night Narcissa had experienced, it was doubly alarming. She jolted awake, head already pounding and body tensed for flight. "What? Who…"

"My questions exactly!" Dr. Mirren was flush with fury. She closed the distance between the door and the bed in quick, wide strides, stood dominant and demanding over the odd pair. "This hospital...has been absolutely _mad_ with worry over you, Narcissa. We have _scoured _ the facility searching for you. And I find you _here_?! Of all bloody places!" She alternately seethed, shouted and sighed, fine hair flying as if to match her flustered wrath. "What the _devil_ made you think you could trespass here? In another patient's room? Especially _this _one? You are…" She struggled for words, squeezed the bridge of her nose in shaking fingers. "You are out of line and out of control!"

"What the devil?!" Jane had swung into the room hot on Mirren's trail. "What is all this screeching?" She gasped. "Mrs. Malfoy!"

"Jane?" Mirren whirled on the assistant. "How is it possible Mrs. Malfoy has breached Mr. Snape's wards?"

"I - I -" Jane stammered, watching Narcissa with wide eyes.

"There were no wards," Cissa offered hoarsely.

"No. Wards." Mirren's eyebrow threatened to leave her face. She pointed at Narcissa, but hissed at Jane. "Get her out of here while I check his condition. Then I expect you in my office."

"Yes, Dr. Mirren!" Jane jumped to action, gathering a blanket around Narcissa and hurrying her from the bed. "Come on. Back to your room then."

"But -"

"Come _on_!" Jane was insistent, pushing Cissa through the door. Narcissa looked backward one last time at Snape - still unconscious on his bed. Mirren stood over him, wand raised and an expression of great concern on her face.

"What were you _thinking_?" Jane demanded. She huffed, settling Narcissa none too gently on her own bed.

"I was so cold," Cissa explained.

"Cold? Cold is no excuse to break wards and enter another patient's room, Narcissa!"

The headache had gone full blown. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. "There were no wards!" She shouted with all the force she could muster.

"Yes, there were!" Jane shouted back. "There were because I raised them myself! Just like always!"

"Jane, please…" The argument was sapping her energy and the cold had already permeated her heart. "I've no bloody wand. How would I break your wards?"

Jane paused her violent pillow-fluffing. "That's true…" She considered. "But there is wandless magic."

"Which would be rendered useless to me at this juncture if I understand correctly."

Jane, forehead creased, dropped onto the bed beside Narcissa. "True." She looked at her patient. "Then how did you get in there?"

"I just pushed the door open."

"Why?" Jane had to know. "Because now I'm going to get my arse handed to me by my boss and your doctor who is _not_ an easy witch to take one's arse from."

"He was so very warm," Narcissa whispered. Further explanations were elusive. Exhaustion claimed her. She pulled another blanket around her shoulders and fell upon the bed. Jane watched her repose, sighing heavily before tucking her in and leaving.

Mirren was already pacing behind her desk. She'd shed her white robes, revealing a set of dusky scrubs beneath. She flicked eyes at Jane when the nurse entered, but said nothing. Jane, head ducked, sat in the overstuffed chair across from her boss. A tense silence settled, both women looking alternately defensive and sullen.

"So." Finally Mirren spoke. "I assume our trespassing addict has been properly seen to."

"I took Mrs. Malfoy back to her room," Jane acknowledged. "Where she fell asleep."

"Did she say anything?"

The younger witch's lips pursed. She fiddled at a string hanging from her robe's sleeve. "She said that he was very warm."

"I see. And about the wards?"

A sniff. "She said that there were no wards."

"I see. And the wards on Mr. Snape's room are your responsibility, are they not?"

"Dr. Mirren I have _never _lapsed in raising those wards!"

"Not until now you haven't."

"I swear to you -"

"Jane, do not interrupt me -"

"She has no wand! No magic to break wards! And there _were _wards, dammit!" In a flurry, Jane stood and thrust her own wand at the doctor. Mirren took a surprised step backward. "Priori Incantatem," she snapped. "Test it yourself. You'll see I cast wards on Mr. Snape's room at approximately 10:20 last evening." She waved the cherry wood. "Go on! I'm no liar."

Mirren's thin nostrils flared. She looked at the proffered wand, then back to Jane's earnest, passionate face. Losing steam, she waved the wand away. "Put it up, Jane. I know you're no liar." She fell heavily into her leather chair. It rolled into the bookcase behind her.

Jane stowed her wand back in its pocket. Relaxed in her own seat. "I suppose it doesn't explain how she got in, though."

"No, it doesn't."

"Perhaps someone else -"

"I checked. No one else performed any spells in or near Snape's room. Nor did he have any other visitors."

"Hm." Jane stared into her lap.

Mirren stared into space. "There's another bit of mystery, as well."

"What's that?"

"His fever. When I checked him just now his temperature was normal. For the first time in weeks."

Jane blinked, leaned forward excitedly. "How is that possible? After all the tests? The potions, drugs, spells and -"

"I don't know." Mirren rubbed a tired hand over her face. "But it's already rising again. As quickly and highly as before."

"Hm." Again Jane stared at her lap. Her smooth face worked as her mind churned. "So… do you think it's possible that…" She chewed her lip for a moment. Mirren waited with narrowed eyes. "...that the Malfoy witch somehow...lowered Snape's temperature?"

Mirren's narrowed eyes widened. She seemed non-nonplussed, as if she'd already considered the possiblity. "That his inexplicable heat was somehow canceled out by her inexplicable chill?"

Jane shrugged. "I guess."

"Seems ridiculous."

Jane shrugged again. "But...his temperature was normal, you said. And we _have _tried everything."

Mirren huffed. "The doctor in me wants to call the entire notion...superstitious psychosomatic bunk. But…"

"But?"

Mirren smiled softly. Ran a hand through her tousled hair. "But the witch in me wants to believe it's magic."

Jane grinned. "So what do we do?"

Mirren groaned and dropped her head onto her desk.

* * *

Narcissa was sitting up in her pillows and rubbing her temples when the doctor knocked and entered. She cut eyes at the physician, an expression reading clearly: "I don't want any bullshit."

Mirren's return expression read clearly: "No bullshit here." She sat in the visitor's chair. Cleared her throat. "Your son is coming to visit you tomorrow."

Narcissa brightened visibly, but winced when she sat forward too quickly. "Ouch."

"Head hurting that badly?"

A scowl. "Nothing a simple potion couldn't cure."

"Potions cure a multitude of problems, Narcissa." Mirren frowned. "But they can cause a multitude more." She produced a small notebook from her pocket along with a quill. "You're doing well, believe it or not. That's why you get your visitor early."

"Even after my 'trespass' last night?" Cissa stressed the word sarcastically.

"I'd like to talk to you about that."

"If you didn't want anyone in there, you should have cast wards."

Mirren's lip curled. She glanced away. "That's another matter entirely. What I want to talk about is...not so simple. And involves a favour. Not something I usually have to ask of patients."

Narcissa was piqued. "What do you want?"

"I want you to go back."

"Back…"

"Back to Snape's room. Back to his side."

It was Narcissa's turn to look bewildered. "Why?"

"I can't explain it. At least not yet. Not until I know for certain."

"Then will you tell me why he's here?" Cissa asked quietly. "Because I - and the rest of the wizarding world - are under the obvious delusion he's dead."

Mirren tapped her notebook with the quill. "Listen to me, Mrs. Malfoy. Anything you know of Snape's existence here must remain here. It is of utmost, vital importance that he be our secret. Rest assured the proper parties are aware of his continued life, but his position is precarious on many levels."

"I understand that."

"His condition is...better than when he first arrived. Much like yours. I honestly didn't think he would live."

"He's unconscious?"

"We're keeping him unconscious for now, for his health. We've had difficulty controlling his temperature and...can't find the cause of the peculiar symptom."

"Oh." Cissa rubbed her arms beneath her blankets. "Is that why he was so warm?"

"Quite." Mirren leaned forward intently, studied Narcissa's face. "How could you possibly have felt that outside of his room?"

"I don't know." Narcissa shook her head. "I thought perhaps there was some sort of heating element inside."

The doctor chuckled. "Well. I suppose for you...there was."

"And now you want me to go back to him?"

"Only if you want to. I want to - need to see if there is indeed a connection. I need to _know_, Narcissa. As a doctor. As a witch. As the person who wants to save him. And you."

Cissa scoffed softly. "I think Severus is the one most in need of your salvation, Dr. Mirren."

"Oh, I've no doubt he needs all the help he can get." Mirren agreed. "But you need salvation from a far more insidious source: yourself." She ignored Narcissa's eyeroll. "If you'll agree to the experiment, I'm willing to negotiate a trade."

Slytherin sails fluttered. Narcissa quirked a brow. "What sort of trade?"

Mirren spread her hands beneficently. "Oh. How about unlimited visits from your son? Starting now. And access to the courtyard."

"I want to wear my own clothes."

Mirren's lips tightened. She hadn't bet on bargaining. Should have know better. "Fine. Your clothes during the day. Hospital gown at night."

"My own gown."

"Oh for Merlin's sake!" Mirren swatted her own knee impatiently with her notebook. "Bloody fine."

Cissa smiled past her headache. Settled into her pillows again. She scratched at the insides of her arms. There was a disturbing rash spreading there. "Then I'll go."

"Thank you." Mirren looked as if she'd fought a particularly harrying battle. "Now. I'd like to talk about your progress. And...your addiction." She peered into Cissa's blanket fort. "I see you've gotten your rash." Narcissa folded her arms self-consciously. "It's a sign of the toxins beginning to leave the body. A good sign. I'll give you a soap and a cream to help with the itch." She flipped open her notebook and began jotting. "Nausea still?"

"Comes and goes."

"Appetite?"

"Also comes and goes."

"The headache. Constant?"

"No." Narcissa closed her eyes in demonstration. "Mostly the light brings it on...or my physician."

"Hm. Mutual." More jotting. "As your serotonin levels balance, you'll see an end to the headache, I think. The courtyard will be good for you. Now." Her posture indicated it was time for the difficult questions. "How bad are the cravings?"

"Cravings?"

"Don't treat me like an idiot, Narcissa. And I won't treat you like one. Agreed?"

Narcissa's eyes watered. She looked away. "I want it more than anything," she confessed. "It feels like the cure to everything that ails me."

Mirren nodded. "Any more hallucinations?"

"No. But the dreams… I feel like I can't sleep deeply enough to escape them. And sometimes…"

"Sometimes what?"

"Sometimes there are these shadows. They're awful."

"Those _are _hallucinations, Narcissa. They will abate as the hallucinogens leave your nervous system." Jotting. "Anything else you'd like to mention? Tingling? Numbness? Heart Palpitations?"

"Yes!" Cissa pointed. "There is tingling! And numbness. In my hands and feet mostly. But I think it's from the cold."

Slowly, Mirren lowered her quill and looked up at her patient. "This cold… I have to tell you you're the first patient who has complained of it."

"You still think it's psychochromatic."

This raised a rare grin. "_So_matic. And yes, I do. But I'm still trying to decipher its source. I might consult a psychologist regarding your case."

"Glad I can be an entertaining puzzle."

"Yes, thank you for that at least." Mirren flipped her notebook closed. "You're on track with your recovery, just so you know. I told you you were a tough witch. You can do this, Narcissa."

"Can I?"

Mirren rose. Reached in her pocket and extracted a small silver-wrapped parcel. "Yes. You can. Here." She pressed the package into Narcissa's palm. "It's a anti-inflammatory pill. For your headache. You should only need one every four to six hours." She handed Narcissa the glass of water from her bedside table. "It will help, but you'll still have a mild ache I'm afraid."

Narcissa popped the pill from its metallic prison and gulped it desperately. She wiped her wet mouth with the back of her hand. "Thank you."

Mirren nodded sadly and turned to the door. "Whenever you are ready, you can report to Snape's room. I've informed the staff. And just so you know - there _are _wards." She looked back at Narcissa's quizzical face. "For some reason, you seem able to pass through them."

Cissa watched Mirren leave. She blinked for a few moments, considering the physician's words. Her rash itched. Her head throbbed. She yawned. Shivered. Wrapped her blankets more tightly around her shoulders.

With a strange mix of determination and resignation, she slipped from her bed. In the chest of drawers near the lav, she found her clothes neatly folded and withdrew her favorite nightgown. Soft linen. It felt - and smelled - like home. She cinched a flannel dressing gown over it, then re-wrapped in her blankets.

Her bare feet patted the shining stone floors as she made her way down the hall. Staff nodded politely or ignored her entirely. There was no sign of Dr. Mirren or Jane. This time, at the door marked CRITICAL, she felt the tell-tale shimmer of wards. But as Mirren had indicated, Narcissa passed easily through them.

Inside, she relaxed immediately. The dim light soothed her head, and she could feel Severus' warmth already. He rested so peacefully in his induced coma, paler than she remembered, but hair still the shiny black she'd mistaken for ink. Face full and creaseless, he looked younger than he had even in his youth. She approached his bed with caution as if she expected him to awaken and send her away. "Severus. It's me again."

She sat beside him. Her hip brushed his and she began settling in. "I'm afraid we're a bit of an experiment. Sweet goddess, you're burning up!" She curled into the few inches available before re-adjusting his arm beneath her neck. "Sorry. Mmmmmm." Her eyes closed. "Feels lovely…" _Psychosomatic, my arse._

Warm again, secure, and free from the aching want, she slept and dreamed.


	5. The Black Orchid King

She rose warm and curious sometime in the early morning. The light in Severus' room was the grey reserved for the time between waking worlds. She stretched, wondering what exactly had roused her. On his bed, Severus was still still. His chest filled and fell hypnotically and he was pristine pale. He looked like gorgeous death.

Fondly, she smiled on him. Her heat source. Gently stroked his cool cheek. And it _was _ cool.

Her mouth was cotton dry. She smacked lips and stood, took a moment to get her balance and checked the dimness for the water pitcher. It stood gleaming on a table just outside the lavatory, little cups beckoning her.

Pouring herself a draught, something caught her attention. She glanced up, and saw full-length herself. _A mirror. _There was one in her own loo, yes, but it was small and she'd hardly felt inclined to glance at it. But now…

This light was far from flattering. It hollowed her cheeks and put shadows where flush ought to be. She turned her head and watched the frown lines multiply. The empty cup made a hollow sound when she set it down, and the silver surface before her seemed to shimmer when her fingers touched it. "Oh," she whispered.

She pushed just a little further. The veil was a bubble; her hand pushed through it like tearing a sheep's bladder. She winced, seeing her arm disappear behind the warped image of herself. There was suction on the other side and she gasped when she realised she couldn't escape its pull - had a brief impossible memory of being birthed.

But she stepped over the reflective threshold with no fear.

Devoured by water colour. It was a canvas unfurling, three dimensional and as real as her seeing eyes. Gnarled trees hung, stretched to touch her or guide her way. The sandy blackening path beneath her feet was soft velum and above, the swirling Van Gogh sky was poetry.

Everything touchable, everything inviting. The flowers - _her _flowers - sprouted and stretched to the flickering sun as she passed. When she stroked a delicate blossom, it sighed sweetly. Her bare feet kicked a paint-clump stone, sent it rolling over a hill ahead, and when she reached that peak, her breath was stolen.

A veritable kingdom stretched before her: miles and miles of dense strokes comprising castles, courtyards, huts and haystacks. Oxen milled in golden fields waving. Goats frolicked in green behind a low hedgerow. Overhead, M's flapped in the cloud swirl.

But all was silent, and she saw no people such as herself.

She stuck to the path. Passed a pool where lily pads hovered over spackled blue, black and white. A bright koi bubbled to the surface, then disappeared beneath a swirl of patina. She paused on the white arched bridge, lost in reverie, and reached for a low branch of cherry blossom. The delicate pink blooms rained on her. They smelled of acrylic.

In the cool shadows beyond the bridge, orchids grew. Dark purple cattleya large and small bobbed as her gown stroked them. Lady slippers - with their sharp black beaks - nodded like plague doctors directing her. She thought she heard them whispering…

The path grew denser. More trees, scarred by fire, creaked and cracked closer and closer. Patterns in their flaking bark resembled skeletons. The velum felt dry here, flaking under foot. She rounded a corner into a clearing and stopped short.

"Severus?" It wasn't so much surprise that tinged her voice as hesitance.

He seemed quite pensive, perched there on his throne. It was a massive thing; part tree, part root of tree. The roots coiled and curled intricately to create cradling armrests. One of his legs, clad black was hooked over one arm. Were it not for his hands and face - stark white - he would have blended like noir on noir.

His eyes were dark pained specks. They glanced up at her but belied no emotion. In his one hand, a wilted lily lay browning; in the other hand, he twirled a crisp narcissus. She stepped wide eyed into his court. Around them, lady slippers bowed to their king. "Severus?" She repeated.

"What are you doing here?" He asked. No malice. Resignation. "It's no place for you."

She swallowed. Their voices echoed hollow in the hollow. "I'm...I was so cold."

"I was meant to burn with it all."

"You…" She stepped closer. Lady slippers balked and withered. "I thought you were dead."

"I am."

"No you're not." She argued.

He scoffed. A very wry smirk made him familiar. "I should be."

She was close enough to touch him, but she stroked the devastated lily instead. The slightest touch sent its desiccated blossom plopping to the ground. She looked up at him worried, afraid she'd incensed him. Instead, she came face to face with his bright darkness. "You put out the fire," he murmured. His gaze was sharp - searching her own.

"I…" But she couldn't finish speaking. His hand - now empty of lily - had cupped her chin like a hummingbird's wing beat. He tilted her face up, and she felt a lonely ray of sun penetrate the dense clouds to warm her cheek.

"Curiouser and curiouser," he whispered.

Then - unexpected as a ghost - his lips met hers.

Even with eyes closed, she knew the painting erupted color around them. She felt the hot melt in her chest, buoying her heart. Pulse racing, she felt herself reach for his face. His hair twirled tendrils around her hands and she bled into him, let her own colors run with his. She couldn't be close enough. They couldn't be _one_ enough, and the sudden intense feeling of feeling overwhelmed her…

"Narcissa."

"Severus…" She breathed back breathlessly.

"Narcissa!"

"Wha?" He was shaking her. No. "Jane." _Jane _ was shaking her.

"Come on, sleepy head." Jane helped her sit up. "I need to change his bandages. And you need to get yourself ready. Your son will be here soon."

"Soon?" The dream had left her muddled. Confused. Completely out of sorts. "What time is it?"

Jane steadied her when she stood. "It's nearly eight in the morning, you ninny. You slept the entire night, it seems."

_The entire night. _Narcissa looked down on Severus' unresponsive face. _And most of the day yesterday. Good goddess. _Then her stomach growled loudly. She and Jane both froze, looked at her offending anatomy.

"Hungry?" Jane asked.

She didn't remember the feeling. But there was definitely a clawing sensation in her gut. She placed a hand over her stomach. It was sunken and sad. "Perhaps?"

Jane smiled. "Well, then. Get yourself settled and we'll see if you can't hold down some broth this time, eh?"

Narcissa nodded dumbly, walking from Severus' room. At the door she paused and turned to see Jane peeling the sheet from his body. He looked as thin as she felt.

* * *

Draco was smiling widely when he entered her room. "Mum."

She leapt from her bed to grab him. He lifted her and twirled her - not a difficult task. "Oh, darling!" She couldn't have controlled the tears in her eyes if she'd wanted.

"Mm." He buried his nose in her freshly washed hair and looked down at her. "I miss you," he confessed. Touched at her sloppy fringe. "You look…" He grimaced. Decided to gloss over that bit of honesty. "Are they being good to you?"

She nodded. Even though the question was relative, she couldn't deny she'd not been mistreated. If anything she'd been the difficult one herself. "They're trying," she said. She stood on tip toes to kiss his cheek and he bent. He smelled like home. "I miss you, too."

Pulling away reluctantly, he settled the blankets back around her shoulders. "Still cold?"

She hesitated. She'd been sworn to secrecy about Severus, and the fear of losing the recovering man's heat kept her tongue tight. "It's getting better."

"Good." He gestured to the chairs by her window. "Let's sit, then. Jane says she'll bring us tea if we want." He was slow to sit, catching himself halfway to the chair. "Gods, mum." The sunlight had revealed her addiction-ravaged face. He reached for her cheek and she flinched away.

"Don't."

He tried to control the concern on his features. "Are you eating? Jane said you had -"

"I had some broth and tea earlier. Most of it came back up. As usual." She picked at a blanket string. "They're giving me these...injections. Of vitamins and… I don't even know."

"Injections." Draco nodded. Couldn't quite completely hide his distaste at the word 'injections.' "Well. I'm sure after -"

"Yes, of course." She interrupted him without knowing his direction. She was done with hearing how far impending her recovery was. Not to mention the chill was starting to shorten her temper already. "How goes the estate?"

"Bloody boring." He was happy to stay on topics that made her smile, no matter how perversely her smile fell on her gaunt face. "Solicitors all day. Goblins and Gringotts. They don't too much care for us there, you know."

"I can imagine." She looked at the floor. "I doubt many people care for us right now."

"That's not true," Draco said. There was a bit of vehemence to his tone. "I refuse to let the name Malfoy inspire hatred for all eternity. So I've been...buying some face, I suppose."

"What do you mean?"

"Putting our money to good use." He blushed. Embarrassed to discuss the family fortune. _So much more modest than his father… _"I've given quite a bit to Hogwarts. And Potter's friend the mudblood set up some damn fund for orphans of the war. So I gave a bit to them, too."

"Draco." She was so proud of him. And yet a great sadness tugged at her heart to know that _this_ was what she had missed. That the depth of her depravity had drowned her to his growing, his changing. _His bettering. And what have I done but worsen? _

"It will be good, mum. I promise." He reached for her hand, squeezed it when she offered it. "And when you come home, you'll have something good to come home to."

His promise humbled her. She felt ashamed of herself. "Thank you, darling." He fussed at his top lip and she could tell there was something more. "What is it?"

"Mum...some of the money…" He sighed. "I had to give it to this witch… I don't know how to tell you…"

She tensed and the cold became a palpable force. It walled her in and she felt her jaw tense painfully. "Don't," she hissed.

"What?"

"Don't speak of it!" Suddenly he was too close. Too close to her, too close to… She twisted out of her chair, caught when one of her many blankets snagged. Shaking, she bent to free it.

Draco leaned forward to help, watching his mother morph. "Mum. Calm down." She snatched the blanket harshly and it ripped. "I didn't know you knew. I won't mention it again."

"Of course I knew," she snapped. Paced. Trapped. Her arms itched through the ice. She scratched. "Knew about his...some witch." She scoffed. "She was a girl! Young enough to be his daughter! The little..._slag_!" Her voice hitched and she felt Draco behind her, reaching for her shoulders.

"Mother."

She turned away. Held up a hand to stop him. "Don't. Just stop. Just...give your father's bastard whatever it needs to be shut of it forever and...Oh gods!" She wailed. Dropped to the floor. She was un-numbed and the fresh sting was dreadfully deep. Sobs shook her. Tears were hot and strangely welcome. She curled and let the itch, the sting and the snot eat her up…

"Mother!" Draco stood over her, frozen by uncertainty. He'd never seen her so wretched. "Mum, please." He knelt and made to pull her to him. But she screamed and lurched from his touch. So violent was her rejection he fell onto his arse, had to balance on his elbows to keep from landing on his back.

She was heaving. Her sobs sounded painful. He decided it would be best to get her doctor, but no sooner had he started to rise than her door swung open. It banged against the wall and Dr. Mirren - Jane in tow - stood staring down at the scene. She didn't look happy.

"I - I don't know what happened!" Jane moved to help him to his feet while Mirren knelt over Narcissa. "She just -"

"Jane." Mirren spoke with remarkable calm. "Take Mr. Malfoy to my office, please. I'll be along directly."

"Yes, doctor."

He stared over his shoulder as the young nurse ushered him gently through the door.

"Mum…"

Narcissa was half across her lavatory threshold when Mirren finally managed to collar her. "There now, witch." She pulled until her reluctant patient was cradled like a babe against her chest. "There now. That's good, Narcissa. Just let it go."

Cissa's fingers clutched Anne's robes. She buried her face in the doctor's chest and muffle her screams. "I wasn't enough!" She cried. "I was never enough! And while I had to beg for my son's life...she never knew a day of the war! That fucking cunt! Her baby - _his _baby - will never know a day of pain and my son..._my_ son will know nothing but!"

"I know. I know." Mirren took to rocking the broken witch. Cooing softly. But the flood of hurt, the pain unleashed, continued to pour from Narcissa's lips.

"Draco!" She called as if he was still there, as if he could hear her. "I'm so sorry! It was him. It was Draco who took the Mark! It was Draco he gave to his Dark Lord - like a lamb to the slaughter! And I was just his _bitch_ for _breeding_! His damned _sow_!" She struggled in Mirren's arms, trying to rise. But the doctor held her fast.

"Tell me the truth, Narcissa," Anne pushed. "Tell me your Secret."

Defeated. Furious and freezing, Narcissa slapped at the doctor. When Mirren stilled her hands, forced her to meet a determined stare, Cissa smiled sickly. "Fine!" She shouted. "I was _glad_ when they killed him! I was _happy_! And when I went to watch his Kiss I wasn't crying because I was a widow. I was crying because I was _free_!" She couldn't control the sudden laughter, was aware how mad it sounded, but it simply didn't matter.

Mirren nodded. "Good. Good girl." She pulled Narcissa's head back to her chest. The laughter turned back to sobs. "That's a start, love. A fine start, indeed."

Draco's hand was shaking as he sipped his tea. Jane was still patting his shoulder when Mirren entered her office. He leapt from his seat so quickly tea sloshed onto his trousers. "How is she?"

Jane took his teetering cup as Mirren calmed him. "She's fine." She moved around her desk, gestured for him to re-seat.

He didn't sit. "I should go back to her."

"No." Mirren shook her head. "She's resting."

"I shouldn't have brought up...certain things." He rubbed at his face. "I feel foolish. Have I set her back?"

"Not at all." Anne smiled tiredly. "In fact, it's a solid step forward. Mr. Malfoy, she's going to have to come to terms with the things that pushed her into addiction. And that isn't going to be easy. And it will be a slow process."

He leaned on the back of his chair. "Should I bother coming back?"

"Oh, absolutely!" Mirren enthused. "You are absolutely essential to her recovery." She pressed her fingers to Narcissa's file as she spoke. "Come often, Mr. Malfoy. We have to work together to open her up."

"I see." Draco sighed. "So I'm going to see her have a nervous fit every time I visit."

"Don't say that," Anne said. "She's getting better. I promise you that."

"Alright then." He slapped the back of his chair. "So I'll come back in a few days after you've patched her up to break her down again. Well that makes me feel fantastic." He made his way to the door. "I really hope I haven't made a monumental mistake putting her in here." He cut harsh eyes at Mirren. "For your sake you'd better hope so, too."

Jane took a deep breath after he'd left. She looked massively relieved. "He was very worried."

"I imagine."

"And quite upset."

"Understandably."

"Is she really alright?"

"She will be."

"Is she really resting?"

"Yes." Mirren looked up at Jane with a tight smile. "With Snape."

**AN: **Thanks to all who've read and reviewed - particularly Story Writer. Yes, we're going to get quite nitty gritty from here on out, my dear. I do hope you enjoy it.


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